by Jane Corrie
She heard Carl take off after her, but she had a running start on him. Her determination not to be coerced into marrying him gave her feet wings, and she had covered the short distance to the bridge in a matter of seconds. She didn't stop to think that the water might be deep in places, she only knew she had to get across that bridge, and she could plainly see the submerged portion of the bridge in the swirling water. Utterly disregarding Carl's shout, she flung herself on to the bridge.
As her feet touched the floor of the bridge, she let out a sigh of relief. Only a little way now. Carl shouted again. 'Keep to the side, Teresa!'
As if she could tell which was the side! Her feet were firmly on the bridge, although admittedly it appeared to be getting deeper in the section she was now passing, for the water was gradually creeping to her waist. Then it happened. What one
moment had been firm wood under her feet suddenly became a slimy morass; her feet shot out from under her, and she fell heavily against one of the wood stanchions, hitting her head hard against it as she tried to gain her balance.
When Teresa next opened her eyes, she blinked, and closed them again quickly. She was having hallucinations, surely? She knew this room well. She was not likely to forget such a beautiful room with its plush furnishings. Her eyes opened cautiously again, and this time focused on the bed that she was lying in, with fine linen sheets and silk woven counterpane. So it was true ! She was at Sunset Ridge!
Sitting up slowly, she winced as a slight pain shot through her forehead, and put an exploratory hand on the area concerned. A wide piece of sticking plaster covered what must have been a cut of some sort, and Teresa remembered her fall on the bridge, but after that, nothing. So she had been unconscious when she was brought to Sunset Ridge. Her lower lip caught in her even teeth; it looked very much as if her desperate bid to gain her uncle's help had gone sadly awry. Carl must have been pretty sure of his ground if he had had her brought there.
She lay back on the pillows again. What a pity she hadn't lost her memory again—at least she would have gained some respite that way. Carl couldn't go ahead with the wedding if the bride didn't know him! Her thoughts meandered on; why didn't these things happen when you needed them to? But she could make it happen! Her
eyes took on a brighter hue. All she had to do was pretend she didn't know him again, and he would have to send her back to her uncle!
She smiled; it was simple really. She would marry Carl only if they lived at Sunset Ridge, proving once and for all that the feud was over. If he agreed to that then Teresa didn't really care where they lived, be it north or south, as long as they were together, and Carl wouldn't be the only one who would have to bury the hatchet; Uncle Patrick must toe the line tool she told herself firmly. There were to be no half-measures. It wasn't too much to ask, surely?
The door of the bedroom opened a little way and Teresa stared at the bright sunlight now streaming through the frilled organdie curtains, unaware of Carl's scrutiny, her thoughts bringing a frown to her expression, so that when she did become aware of his presence it was not hard to feign surprise at the sight of him. He walked towards her with a kind of hesitancy that told her he was unsure of how to approach her, and of whether she knew him or not.
'How are you feeling?' he asked carefully.
Teresa was glad to be able to look away from his searching eyes, and put a hand to her head. 'Rather delicate,' she replied non-committally.
He nodded. 'Not surprising, considering the wallop you took,' he said conversationally. 'It was a very stupid thing to do, and a good job I was close behind you.'
Teresa did not answer, she dared not. She wasn't supposed to know what they were talking about, was she?
'I suppose you remember nothing?' he asked
casually, and sat down on the bed beside her.
She moved back a little way from him, remembering it was what would be expected of her, and he ought to have realised that, she thought crossly. Even if he had been a doctor he wouldn't have sat quite so close as that, particularly as she was in her nightdress. She gave a quick glance to the size of the gown she wore. Well, not her nightdress—Mrs Ray's, more likely! Coming away from these diverting thoughts, she realised that Carl was still awaiting an answer from her. She shook her head, and added a frown for good measure, wincing as the plaster pulled on her forehead at the effort.
'Oh, my ! ' sighed Carl deeply. 'It's not what might be called an envious situation for us to be in on our honeymoon.'
Teresa was brought out of her lost-memory role with a jerk, and sat up suddenly and stared at him with wide eyes. 'Hon-honeymoon?' she got out in a strangled voice, and for a moment she wondered whether she really had lost her memory.
'It was such a lovely ceremony, too,' sighed Carl in a rueful voice that added to her confusion, and she continued to stare at him while her mind went over previous events. She couldn't have married him! How could she repeat her vows if she was unconscious?
It was as well for Teresa's peace of mind that she caught a wicked imp of amusement lurking at the back of his eyes. So that was it! He was trying shock tactics on her!
`I'm sorry,' she murmured in a timid voice, hastily lowering her lashes to prevent him spotting the
glint in her eyes. 'It must be awful for you. Y-you'll just have to give me time, won't you?'
'I'll give you a damn good thrashing, my girl, if you keep this up much longer ! ' he threatened.
Teresa hadn't given up yet; he couldn't be absolutely certain that she did know him. 'I don't think I like you! ' she said indignantly. `Go away and bully someone else.'
She heard the quick intake of breath and half expected to be given the threatened walloping then and there, but he wasn't through yet either. 'I must say I didn't expect to become a wife-beater so early in our marriage, but it rather looks as if I've no option. Come here! ' he commanded, and propelled her roughly into his arms.
She wasn't too sure how the punishment was going to be administered, and when she realised the form it was going to take, she became panic-stricken, for his lips roamed her forehead and his hands caressed her bare shoulders, sending shivers of anticipation through her. `I'm not your wife,' she cried frantically, 'stop it, Carl! '
He released her immediately, and holding her away from him he studied her through narrowed eyes. `So,' he said softly, 'we have the truth at last, do we?' and stopped her indignant protest by sealing her lips firmly with his.
`Give in?' he whispered a short while later, and a thoroughly weak Teresa could only nod her head and rest it on his shoulder. What did it matter, she thought, if it wasn't quite what she had wanted? He loved her and she loved him, and everything else paled into insignificance.
'The wedding's at two-thirty,' he announced calmly, grinning at Teresa's start. 'We've just made it,' he said, giving her a look that turned her heart over, 'I didn't have to cancel it after all.'
Woman-like, Teresa's thoughts turned to her trousseau. Her things were in the trunk, but 'My dress?' she asked.
Carl got up and walked to the wardrobe and flung open the doors for her to see the contents. 'Right where you left it, honey. It's been waiting for you,' he said airily, and added on a slightly thickened note, 'as I have.'
Her breath caught in her throat. 'Where are we going afterwards?' she asked quickly, in an effort to stem the impulse to hold her arms out to him. He was safer where he was—across the room from her.
His brow lifted in query. 'Could you stand the cabin again for maybe a week, or longer?'
He answer was in her eyes, and he had covered the distance between them in a second.
'Will you mind,' she murmured later, 'leaving here, I mean?'
Kissing her hair lightly, he replied, 'I thought we'd gone into all that,' then pulled her closer. 'I don't want you hurt, sweetie. I can only protect you by taking you away.'
Teresa frowned and pulled herself away from him so that she could see his face. 'Why should anyone want to hurt me?' she asked in genuine puz
zlement, although a little ray of sunshine was creeping through her consciousness.
Carl's rueful eyes met hers. 'Isobel, for one,' he said slowly.
Teresa shook her head slowly as if trying to assimilate this disclosure. And she had thought ... She gave him an indignant look. 'You mean,' she said incredulously, 'that that's the reason you're insisting we go up north?'
Carl traced a loving finger down her cheek and softly touched her full lips. 'Believe me, sweetheart, it's for the best. They'd never let you live down the Rafferty connection. Isobel is only one of them. The rest will follow her lead, and the ladies of high society in these parts are a close-knit community. They have coffee mornings, tea parties—you know the sort of thing I mean. Oh, sure,' he said bitterly, 'you'll be asked to a few occasions at the start, and they'll make the right noises from curiosity if nothing else, but you'll soon find yourself excluded from everything, and I won't,' he added fiercely, have you hurt, or made to feel a social outcast, for that's what they'll do to you, and I won't always be around to see fair play.'
For a while Teresa found it impossible to say anything. How she had misjudged him! She buried her face in his chest. 'Oh, my love,' she whispered, the tears welling up in her eyes. 'As if I cared one iota about that sort of thing I As long as I have your love, nothing else matters, do you hear me?' she demanded, sniffing loudly in an effort to stop the tears.
Carl's arms tightened around her. 'It can be a lonely life for a woman out here, my sweet,' he said, burying his face in her neck. 'I don't think you quite realise how important these social get-togethers can become.'
'And that's what you want me to become, is it?' said Teresa in a muffled voice. 'A social butterfly?' She pushed him gently away from her and met his eyes. 'Shall I tell you what I'm going to become, Carl Elton?' she demanded in a voice that trembled a little. 'A wife and a mother. How'—her voice grew stronger—'how much time do you think I'm going to have for socialising when I want a huge family?' She sniffed. 'Well, not perhaps all that large,' she conceded, 'something on the lines of a rugby team, I thought ...' She was not allowed to finish the sentence.
A few hours later Teresa dressed for her wedding, that was to take place in the games room of Sunset Ridge. Not that it bore any resemblance to a games room by the time Mrs Ray and a few helpers had finished with it. The wood block floor had now been covered with a carpet and flowers were displayed in various fancy containers, and placed in every available space.
The guests had been cut to a minimum, and only very close friends of Carl's had been asked. Isobel and her parents, of course, had been given an invitation, but Isobel had sent a politely worded note to the effect that she was indisposed, but that her parents would attend. Teresa could find it in her heart to feel sorry for her, for had it been the other way round, she knew how she would have felt.
Adjusting the lace round her wrist, Teresa waited while Mrs Ray fussed round the hem of her dress to make certain it hung right. Her offer of help had come as a pleasant surprise to Teresa, who had
wondered at first whether she was working under orders from Carl, but she had given such unstinting attention to even the smallest detail that Teresa had come to the conclusion that it was not enforced labour, and this puzzled her a little, for Mrs Ray had been with the Eltons for years, so long in fact that she could almost be identified as one of the family. Would she mind a Rafferty ruling Sunset Ridge? Teresa wondered. Not that one would think so by the way she was fussing round her. It would certainly appear that that piece of mischief-making was the sole product of Isobel's feverish thinking. It certainly was not Carl's, for he had looked astounded when Teresa confessed the reason why she had repeatedly refused to marry him.
Teresa's thoughts then went to her uncle, and she wondered whether he would give her away, and if so what sort of a mood he would be in. If he didn't behave himself, she thought as she adjusted the veil over her bright hair, she would read him the riot act, and very likely bang his head hard against the nearest object!
Her expression was so fierce that it caused Mrs Ray to give her an anxious glance and ask, 'Is everything all right, dear? You're not having an attack of nerves, are you?'
Teresa smiled. 'No, I'm quite all right, thank you, Mrs Ray, and thank you for the help you've given me. It's very sweet of you ...' She hesitated, not quite knowing how to put what she was thinking into words, and then went on slowly, 'I hope I don't turn out to be a disappointment to everyone. I know I'm considered an outsider,' she said quietly.
Mrs Ray's homely face broke into a beaming smile. 'That makes two of us,' she said. 'We'll keep the old home fires burning, you'll see if we don't,' she added kindly.
Teresa could have hugged her. It wasn't quite what she meant, but she had a feeling that Mrs Ray had known exactly what she was getting at, and had vanquished her fears the only way she knew how.
Her day, Teresa felt, would be made if Uncle Patrick would toe the line. She asked for nothing more, and her eyes swept over the small gathering of guests for some sign of her uncle as she made her way through the hall towards the games room. If he were there, surely he would be waiting outside the room to lead her down the aisle? Her uncle, however, was not there, but Doctor Turnbull was, dressed resplendently in top hat and tails, and his eyes twinkled as he offered her his arm. Teresa, taking it, tried not to show her disappointment at not seeing her uncle.
'Patrick's been held up,' explained the doctor, who saw through her bright smile. 'I'm deputising for him, with your consent, of course,' and at her quick nod he went on. 'I'm sure he'll explain when he gets here,' he added kindly. 'Now, are you ready?'
Teresa ought to have thought of nothing but the tall fair man, dressed immaculately in a dark pinstripe, who stood waiting for her at the end of the room, and who turned as she neared him, his eyes telling her he loved her. But a touch of sorrow had intruded where none should be, for she was convinced that her uncle had boycotted the ceremony, and she had so much wanted him to be there.
Her quietness did not go unnoticed by Carl, who drew her aside the first moment he could after they had received the congratulations of all present. `What is it, my sweet?' he asked anxiously. 'Your head's not aching, is it?'
Teresa shook her head, and in spite of her determination to appear gay she found to her horror that tears were welling up in her eyes. 'Uncle Patrick,' she said in a low voice. 'He didn't come, did he?'
Carl placed an arm round her waist and pulled her close to him. 'You're really fond of that old scallywag, aren't you?' he asked softly. 'Well, you can put your mind at rest. In a way, it's my fault.' He added quickly, seeing the look of reproach this brought from her, 'No, we haven't quarrelled again. In fact I think we'll get a lot more co-operation from him in future.'
Teresa had no time to ask him what he meant, for at that moment in walked the man himself; although Teresa tad to look twice to confirm that it was Uncle Patrick, for he wore top hat and tails, and bright polished shoes. Her wondering eyes saw him swagger, she couldn't put it any other way, down the room towards them, and Carl gave her a slight squeeze as he called, 'Someone get Mr Rafferty a glass of champagne! '
'Whist, girl! 'Tis sorry I am to have missed your nuptials. The fool of a tailor mislaid me gear, and I wasn't turning up in anything but the best,' he said as he brushed a speck of white off his sleeve. 'Sure, I'm a man of consequence now, so I am! ' He darted a quick look at Carl as if he dared to contradict him.
'Patrick,' explained Carl carefully, 'has kindly
agreed to run my transport section for me. There'll be a lot of movement from here to the northern station, and he knows those routes like the back of his hand. Means an office job, of course, but he's the right man for the job.'
'Sure, I couldn't,' boasted Uncle Patrick as he accepted the glass that had been brought to him, 'have put it better meself,' and lifted the glass up in salute to Carl and Teresa. `To the Eltons and the Raffertys ' he said solemnly, and drank their health.
Teresa's heart w
as full as she stood a little apart and watched her uncle and her husband in earnest discussion on the coming project, and nearly burst as she heard her uncle say, 'So this is the games room, is it? I heard Joe Spang mention it a couple of times.' His eyes roamed the room. 'He said it was a fair size,' he commented.
Carl's eyes went to Teresa as he answered with a bland expression on his face, 'Well, I'm thinking of having it extended. We're expecting a rugby team, you know! '
Later that day, when they were finally alone, Teresa had just one little bone to pick with her beloved. 'You realise, I suppose,' she remarked with a hint of reproach in her eyes, 'that nearly everyone will be of the opinion that you had to marry me? Although,' she said airily, as she ran her fingers lightly over the firm lines of his jaw, 'I don't suppose that little fact ever entered your autocratic head.'
Carl grinned, and caught her hand to his lips. `There isn't a single soul in this town,' he told her
wickedly, 'who doesn't know how I feel about you—or that I was having trouble in bringing you to heel. If anything, my sweet, you have their sympathy for arousing the passion of such a ruthless character!
